That's Amore
by kabensi
Summary: Rachel orders vegan pizza from a gourmet pizzeria only to find Quinn standing on her doorstep.


It starts because her regular place is out of kale.

With as many pizza places as there are in New York City, there are only a handful who make legitimate vegan pies and only a couple that are actually good. Rachel's been content with Veetie Pies for over a year, but they recently raised their prices and this whole kale kerfuffle has Rachel checking Yelp for reviews of the other options. She settles on Garden Party Pizza, because they have five stars and their order minimum is ten bucks instead of the standard fifteen at any of the other contenders.

She places her order online and goes back to memorizing her lines for her scene study class. Even with last year spent on a Broadway stage, playing Funny Girl left her feeling like she still has so much to learn and all of her NYADA instructors constantly reminded their students that performance is a craft to be constantly honed.

It's weird, to be living the life she's always dreamed about, yet she's still working on scenes and songs to present in a classroom setting. It's a lot like her life in Lima. But with vegan pizza delivery.

It's forty-three minutes later when the buzzer rings. She pulls herself up off her small loveseat and quickly presses the intercom.

"Yes?"

The voice is crackly and fragmented as it comes through the plastic speaker, but she can make out the words "Garden Party delivery" and pushes the button that allows the delivery person into the building.

Rachel's only been in her new apartment for a couple months and she's still getting used to buzzing people in. The loft didn't have a buzzer and people could just show up at her door. Which meant there were plenty of surprises. Good and bad.

She's on the fourth floor of a six story walk up, so she waits until she hears footsteps in the hall before she opens her door.

There, in the hallway, wearing a black polo shirt and matching visor, both with a red and gold G.P.P. logo embroidered on them, is Quinn. Quinn Fabray.

Rachel knew Quinn was in New York. She transferred from Yale to Barnard at the beginning of the school year, because she apparently wasn't pleased with what the Yale culture brought out in her. The rumor was that she switched to a women's college because it was supposed to make Noah feel better about his girlfriend (at the time) being faithful, but the details Rachel was able to piece together from her gossip circle was that the break-up between Quinn and Noah actually pre-dated the transfer. Whenever it happened, Quinn's seemed much happier without the military boyfriend and Noah's Facebook feed is always boasting some picture of him with attractive women at his side, so Rachel can only assume it was for the best.

She could probably ask Quinn directly, now that she's standing right in front of her.

"You're my Kale Kamikaze?" Quinn asks.

"I suppose I am," Rachel replies. She laughs. "This is-"

"Really weird, I know."

"I just wasn't aware you were in the pizza delivery business."

"It's not Broadway, but it helps take the edge off of tuition payments."

Rachel realizes they're just standing in the hall. "Did you want to come in?"

Quinn glances at her watch. "I'm not really supposed to. Safety reasons." But the way she eyes the doorway, or really, Rachel in the doorway, suggests she might make an exception.

"You know I'm not an axe murderess."

"I assume you're not, anyway. But people probably figured Lizzie Borden wasn't, either."

"Okay, but I'm not Lizzie Borden. Though, I did hear one of the companies is going to be workshopping a musical about her later this season. I haven't done any musical horror, yet. Not professionally."

There's a familiarity to the way Quinn smiles at Rachel's short ramble. "I can come in for a minute."

Rachel steps into her small one bedroom apartment. There's a lot she wants to ask Quinn, but she also feels like she's relatively up to date on Quinn's life, because they've been actively liking each other's posts on various social media. "How's Barnard?"

"It's pretty great."

"You changed your major, right?"

Quinn nods. "Comparative Literature." She draws out the words, as if emphasizing how different it is from her former Theater Studies major. "I really did think drama was going to be this amazing discovery for me, but realized I really don't want to be on stage or put myself on that kind of display."

"I still think you would have been phenomenal," Rachel says. "But you sound happy. And look happy. I like you happy."

"Good. Because I am. Happy."

They smile at each other until Rachel realizes that Quinn's still holding a pizza. "Oh. Um. Right." Rachel grabs the twenty dollar bill of the coffee table. "It's twelve something, isn't it?"

"Twelve ninety-eight."

Rachel hands her the money and Quinn passes her the pizza. "Keep the change."

"You don't have to-"

"Quinn. I know it's all about the tips."

"You're ridiculous. But thank you." Quinn's hands, now empty, stuff themselves in the back pockets of her jeans. "We should get coffee or something. Later."

"I'd love that."

Quinn leaves Rachel to her pizza and Rachel makes a mental note to add Quinn to her calendar. Except it's a busy week with scene study class and auditions, so it's the weekend before she even realizes it.

Saturday nights are karaoke nights with her theater friends and while Rachel knows better than to drink too much alcohol for the sake of her voice, she's had a couple strawberry pina coladas by the time she catches a cab and heads home. When she gets there, she chastises herself for making Sundays her Whole Foods grocery run days because her fridge is basically devoid of anything substantial.

Good thing the delivery menu from Garden Party Pizza is still stuck to the front of the refrigerator with a Phantom of the Opera magnet.

She opts for Pineapple Paradise, this time. The wait leaves her dozing on her small sofa until the buzzer wakes her up and the buzz from the booze and the haze of sleep sends her stumbling for the intercom.

"Hello?"

"Garden Party."

Rachel presses the button and waits before opening the door. But she didn't wait long enough, because she's standing in the hall for a minute or so before she hears the steps on the stairs.

Again, it's Quinn.

"Quinn!"

"Are you seriously surprised?"

"I… was just thinking about pizza."

"Well, here it is."

"Can you come in? Or… do you have other deliveries."

"I'm on my break. I cashed this one out before I left because I figured you were good for it."

"I am!" Rachel turns and marches right back into the apartment, looking around for wherever she left her purse when she came home.

Quinn lingers in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "You can pay me later. It's… not a big deal."

"No, I have it…" Rachel finds her bag under a sweater, next to the sofa. "Here." She fishes out a five, then a ten, then another five.

"I think you should probably just eat something, boozy."

"I'm not boozy!" Rachel defends, wobbling slightly when she spins around to hand Quinn the cash. "I only had two."

Quinn sidesteps the money being thrust her direction and moves for the small kitchen, placing the pizza box on the counter. "Come on." She opens the cupboards and finds a plate, then drops a slice on it.

"I'm sorry I never called about coffee."

"Hey, I know you're busy."

"I am, but I wanted to. I still want to." Rachel's buzz is making her mouth run. "I miss you." She's close enough to accept the plate Quinn's holding out to her.

"I… miss you, too." Quinn leans against the counter and tugs the visor off her head so she can run a hand through her hair.

"You know, I had this fantasy about you moving to the city."

"Oh?" Quinn's eyebrows raise.

"Uh huh."

"What… kind?"

"You know, like, we'd meet up and go out to shows. Maybe some museums. Life in the city kind of stuff." Rachel picks up her pizza and she's about to take a bite when she lowers it back down. "What did you think I meant?"

"I… didn't think anything. You just said fantasy and I…"

"You thought I meant… Like, sexy?"

"No." But Quinn's fighting a smile.

Rachel's response is to bite her bottom lip, because it'd be a complete untruth to say she's never had fantasies of the sexy variety about Quinn. "You're smiling about it."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Do you want me to have sexy fantasies about you?" The pizza is abandoned on the counter and Rachel's closing in.

"I… do you? Have them?"

"It would be absurd of me not to entertain some kind of thoughts about the prettiest girl I've ever met." There's barely any space left between them and Rachel can't resist closing the little that remains as she presses her mouth to Quinn's, kissing her because it feels like the right thing to do.

And it is, because Quinn kisses back. Her hands grip Rachel's waist, keeping her steady and secure as their lips tentatively move together. But it doesn't take long for them to find a rhythm, to anticipate each other. Rachel's hands are balled up, gripping the sides of Quinn's polo. When she realizes this, she releases the shirt and immediately slips her hands lower, tugging at the uniform, trying to pull it up.

"Whoa, hey…" Quinn places gentle hands over Rachel's.

"What?" Rachel asks, looking up at Quinn.

"Well, first of all. I only have about fifteen minutes before I have to be back. And," Quinn tips her head forward to rest it against Rachel's, "you're a little drunk."

"Not even really that much."

"But enough."

Rachel pouts as she pulls back, letting Quinn straighten out her shirt. "Fantasy Quinn is never this reasonable."

Quinn tugs her visor back down over her head, then places two firm hands on Rachel's shoulders as she leans close, speaking into her ear. "Fantasy Rachel isn't nearly as good of a kisser as you are." She catches Rachel's lips with her own, then she's moving for the front door. "I'm going to call you in the morning. Try not to be hungover."

There's a dramatic sigh from Rachel, but it's followed with a dreamy smile that Quinn returns before she shuts the door behind her.

Pineapple Paradise is nice, but it's nothing compared to the kiss Rachel still feels on her lips.

She's already up and on the elliptical by the time Quinn calls around nine-thirty.

"Good morning!" Rachel chirps into the speakerphone.

"You know, I figured you'd probably be awake, but I honestly did not expect you to be this chipper."

"It was only two drinks, Quinn. And I had plenty of water before bed. Additionally, the endorphins from my workout are the best cure for any potential hangover."

"You're working out. Right now?"

"Yep!"

"Wow. Even Cheerios got Sunday mornings off." Quinn's tone is amused. "So, um. No regrets about last night?"

"None at all." Rachel slows her workout until she's stopped. "I absolutely wanted to kiss you and I would have been fine with anything that could have potentially followed." She steps off the machine and begins a series of stretches to keep her muscles from cramping up. There's silence from Quinn's end and Rachel wonders if she's been too forward. "Quinn?"

"I'm here. I just…"

"Too much?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Is it something you'd be interested in pursuing?"

Quinn laughs. "Rachel, what happened last night is something I've been thinking about since we were in glee club together."

Rachel lies flat on her back as she stares up at the ceiling while her breathing evens out. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Because it took me half a dozen idiot boyfriends to figure out what I was actually looking for."

"Would you maybe want to meet me for brunch and talk about it?"

"I'd love that, but I have to work the lunch shift. Maybe we could do something after?"

"Okay, call me later."

Rachel disconnects the call and looks at her Sunday calendar. Shopping. A little house cleaning. And then Quinn.

But she's already done with the first two items on her agenda before noon. Kissing Quinn is something she wants to do again, as soon as possible.

So, she orders another pizza.

Quinn's at her door in thirty minutes.

"When I said 'call me later,' this was not what I had in mind." Quinn allows herself to be led into the apartment by the hand.

Rachel shuts the door, then leans against it as she looks at Quinn. "I couldn't wait."

"I can see that."

"After you left, last night, I may have entertained a few new fantasies about you."

That's enough to get Quinn to set the pizza down. "Is… this one of them?"

"How much time do you have?"

"I can get away with taking up to thirty minutes for a delivery. Which means I have about seventeen minutes before I have to be back."

Rachel furrows her brow, considering what this means. "Well, I know it's unconventional, considering we just reconnected this last week, but I was thinking that, since we've known each other for so long and we're both clearly attracted to each other, it wouldn't be unreasonable to suggest that we-"

"-Rachel."

"Yeah?"

Quinn's visor is in her hands and she's tossing it aside. "Whatever you're asking for, the answer is yes. It's always going to be yes."

Again, Rachel's gripping handfuls of Quinn's work shirt, but this time she's pressed up against her own front door while Quinn kisses her, hands groping over the lightweight sweater, then downward to the top of Rachel's shorts. When Rachel's hands retrace their movements from the previous night, Quinn doesn't stop her. Unbuttoning the fly to Quinn's jeans is easier said than done when Quinn's tongue is in her mouth, but Rachel manages to pull them open and slip her hand inside.

"You're sure this is okay?" Rachel asks, between kisses.

"Uh huh," Quinn breathes, her own fingers tugging at the snap on Rachel's shorts. "We just… have to do it in ten minutes or less."

"Then I guess I'd better pick up the pace," Rachel replies. Her fingers push Quinn's underwear aside and she's immediately met with warm wetness.

Quinn's hand has worked it's way into Rachel's panties and Rachel's eyes roll back when Quinn's fingertips brush over her clit. She mirrors the movement and Quinn is quickly groaning against her neck with each flick of Rachel's fingertips.

Rachel's been thinking about this, or at least something like it, since last night. Her workout this morning was supposed of have curbed some of her sexual energy, but it's back with a vengeance, culminating low in her belly until her body flexes, going rigid with orgasm as she comes against Quinn's fingers.

Quinn's hips rock against Rachel's hand, even while Rachel is momentarily incapacitated, but the shorter woman is able to focus through her afterglow enough to give Quinn enough friction to find her release.

They're left panting against the door, Rachel clinging to Quinn and Quinn bracing her free hand next to Rachel's head.

"You smell like pizza," Rachel mumbles into the black polo shirt.

"Pretty sure that's not all I smell like." Quinn tips her head down to press her lips to Rachel's. "We didn't think this through."

"We didn't?" Rachel straightens up. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is… I have to go back to work and I'd rather stay here."

Rachel kisses her, again. "You can come over afterward."

Quinn nods. "I like that."

"I could order another pizza."

"You'd be spending unnecessary money."

"But I'm a great tipper."

"Wait, so you're paying me for sex?"

"Okay, I won't tip."

"How about we have sex when I'm not making an hourly wage?"

"You mean without the challenge of a time constraint?"

Quinn ends the discussion with another kiss, then washes up before she leaves Rachel alone with her pizza and the promise to return later.

But even with Quinn coming over during her off hours and a long conversation about what they mean to each other, Rachel can't resist placing an order the next evening.

On Monday, it's Tomato Tornado. Thursday, it's Avocado Avalanche. By Saturday, they have a routine down that leaves five minutes for cuddling before Quinn's due back at the store.

They're tangled together on the sofa, Quinn's shirt draped over the arm. Rachel drops kisses all over Quinn's shoulder.

"Are you sure you have time?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I just worry that the pizza's getting cold."

"You're actually going to eat it?" The pizza sitting on the counter is a Meatzilla Combo.

"I… didn't order anything."

"Wait." Quinn sits up. "You didn't?" Suddenly, she's scrambling for her shirt and looking for the order ticket. "Okay, but this is your address." She peers closer at the numbers. "Shit, but it's apartment 4B, not 4D."

"And here I thought you couldn't get enough of me," Rachel teases.

Quinn reluctantly rises from the couch, only to let Rachel pull her back down for a kiss. "I can't."

"Good." Rachel releases her hold on Quinn's arm. "Because I'm getting hungry and thinking about ordering a Broccoli Bonanza for dinner."

Quinn glances at the clock, which reads six-thirty. "I don't get off until nine."

Rachel's already picking up the phone to place her order. "Not if I have anything to say about it."


End file.
